


Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

by amutemockingjay



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Gen, I try to fix canon, I'm still fucked up about the end of s3, Post canon, trigger warning: anorexia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28013802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amutemockingjay/pseuds/amutemockingjay
Summary: Powerless, lost, grieving: all the ways El Hopper doesn't deal with her adopted father's loss, and how she comes back from the brink
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a hot minute since I wrote for this fandom. I have been writing for a different fandom on a different account but *handwave*
> 
> A version of this oneshot has existed in my drafts since s3 dropped last July. However, my dad died in January 2019 so I was absolutely hysterical at the end of The Battle of Starcourt. I was also knee deep in a relapse of my own eating disorder due to the loss of my dad, which is how this fic came into fruition. 
> 
> Just a note on history and terms-- in the 80s, not much was known about anorexia and bulimia, and there were few resources to treat the disease. The terms used in this fic--anoretic, bulimirexia, were used by clinicians of the period. Additionally, in 1985 the first residential treatment center for the treatment of eating disorders, The Renfrew Center, opened in Philadelphia (I went to to their other res in South Florida). A lot of this comes from my own lived experience but I can say that the disease doesn't wrap up as neatly as it does in fiction. I wish it was cohesive, but having been in recovery since 2017, and still having relapsed, healing is far from linear.

"You weren't afraid you were gonna die; you were afraid you were gonna live." --Emma Chota, Red Band Society

I.

When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. New room, new home, new family. An ache started beneath her ribs that never went away, a dull throb that reminded her that her dad was gone. 

El Hopper wanted to disappear. 

Stripped of her powers, defenseless, a small voice piped up in the back of her mind: why not? Why not see just how far she could go? 

II.

El didn’t really know much about diets. She knew that Hop often complained of being fat, that her Eggo extravaganzas were for special occasions only. The women she had known in her life weren’t big on diets, except for Mike’s mom. Joyce tried to cook where she could, when she wasn’t put on the late shift managing a section of a department store in downtown Philadelphia. On those nights, she left a little cash for Will and El to order a pizza. 

She didn’t think much on what she ate, other than whether or not it tasted good. And looking at herself in the mirror, she knew she wasn’t fat, though she wasn’t sure why being fat was a bad thing. 

It felt good, though, to make a decision about something. To carry some kind of power now that her powers were gone, with no sign of going back. 

Skipping breakfast seemed easy. Lunch was thrown away between classes, when Will wasn’t looking. She felt a pant of guilt, getting rid of food that Joyce had bought for her, the peanut butter sandwich with the crusts cut off the way she liked it, the fruit and chips. 

The lightheaded rush felt even better though. Hunger gnawed at her insides and just to feel something other than the hollow numbness of Hop’s loss was a super jolt to her mind. Deprivation felt sweet in comparison. It was her fault anyway, the whole mess. She had opened the gate and although she had tried to fix things, the Mind Flayer had been after her, had destroyed everything. So she told herself she deserved the hunger. She didn’t deserve to eat. Not with her dad dead and Mike so far away and everything in pieces. 

She wasn’t sure if she could put herself back together, so why try? 

III. 

Friends don’t lie. 

And so, instead, she didn’t say much of anything when pressed, shrugging her shoulders. Cutting her dinner into small pieces so it looks like she’s eaten more than she really has. Though somehow, the less she puts in her body the more anxious she feels, insomnia gripping her as she paces endlessly. 

Still, she couldn’t bear to see the concern in Joyce’s eyes as she picked at her food. The first night she managed to eat her dinner entirely to please her adopted mother she felt sick-- nausea gripping her body, sweat beading her hands, overfull stomach cramping. 

She was put to bed with a hot water bottle, her temperature taken. And when Joyce finally leaves her sight, the thought occurred to El: if she had put food into her body, why couldn’t she take it out again? 

Tying her brown hair back she stumbled to the bathroom she shared with Will. Toilet seat raised, and fingers down her throat. Coughing, sputtering, and her dinner came up in reverse order. She trembled, sweat sticking her hair to her forehead, the violence of the act making every part of her body ache. 

There was a knock on the door. “El? Are you sick? Do you want me to get Mom?” 

She swallowed, her voice raspy. “I’m okay.” 

After that, she learned to run the bath to hide the sound. 

IV.

Christmas would be spent back in Hawkins. Though she and Mike spoke every night on the phone, El found herself torn between excitement and fear at seeing him again. She missed him terribly, there was no doubt of that. 

But what if he could taste the vomit on her breath? What if he noticed how little she ate, how her clothes hung off her, baggy? 

And—what if he wanted more than just kisses? 

They hadn’t gone further than the kissing back in Hop’s cabin, but having gone through her first year of high school, she knew there was more. What exactly that more entailed, she wasn’t so sure. 

Now when she stood in front of the mirror, her ribs stuck out, the way they had in the lab. Back then, she hadn’t a choice. Now, addicted to the rush of starvation, she was glad that she was disappearing. 

Maybe, her body would give out completely and she could see Hop again. 

She tried not to think about how he would be disappointed in her, if he was alive and knew what she was doing to herself. 

V.

“El!” 

The Byers clan stumbled out of the car in the winter snow where it parked in the Wheelers’ driveway. 

The Party was waiting for them, and as usual, Mike was the first one out, wrapping his arms around Eleven. She leaned against him, dizzy, hoping that he thought it was because she was so happy to see him. 

And she should have been. Yet the starving and puking that numbed out the aching loss that threatened to destroy her completely numbed her to joy as well. This should have been the best moment, something she had been looking forward to for months. Instead, she felt nothing. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, and she nodded. 

“I’m fine.”

Worry crossed his expression as he furrowed his brows. “Your lips are blue from cold. Let’s get you inside, okay?” 

Grabbing her hand, he led her up the walk. All at once the dizziness overcame her and she tripped, stumbling. His arm was around her waist at once. 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

Mike, she knew, would be almost easy to fool. Max, however, was going to be less so, and as El caught a glimpse of the redhead in the window, a pit formed in her stomach. 

Her brilliant, brash, blunt friend would ultimately be her downfall. 

VI.

“Which one?” Max held up two comics—the latest issue of Wonder Woman, and Spider-Man. El dug through her bag for her pajamas. Will would be staying with the Wheelers but it was decided that El should stay with Max. 

“Uh, I don’t know.” 

Max crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, El, what is your deal? You’ve been weird all week. And not your usual weird. Like….different weird.” 

El pulled off her shirt, reaching for her pajama top, Her back was still to Max as she changed, pointedly ignoring the question. Then she felt the comic hit the side of her head. 

“Hey!” She turned around. 

Max stood with her arms crossed over her chest, cheeks bright red. “What the hell is wrong with your back, El?” 

Panic crawled into her chest and burrowed there for a permanent stay. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Max marched up to her friend, grabbing her hand. There were scabs on El’s knuckles. “And this?” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing! I had to watch those lame ass movies in health class, you know.” 

“It’s really nothing!” 

“Stop lying to me,” Max snapped. “You’re starving yourself to death.” 

“I eat.” 

“Yeah, and puke it up after? I’m going to tell Mrs. Byers.” 

“No!” The ferocity at which she responded surprised even El. The mirror on Max’s dresser wobbled accordingly. Were El not so caught up in fear and grief and anger she would have noticed the first sign of her powers since that July evening. “Don’t tell her.” 

“Like hell I won’t.” Max’s voice lowered. “I already lost my brother. I’m not losing my best friend, either.” 

Were these normal circumstances, El knew that her friend’s anger came from fear and love. But there was nothing about her reality that felt normal, and whenever things got bad, she would run. 

So she took off, barefoot in the snow, only in her flannel pajamas. Stumbling through the streets of the subdivision the Mayfields’ had, trying to outrun Max, who was calling her name. 

She was shivering from head to toe, her head spinning. Her limbs felt weak, her knees knocking together as she tried desperately to hold herself together, the tears running down her face freezing onto her skin in the brutal Indiana winter. 

That is, until everything went black. 

VII. 

When she came to, she wasn’t in the snow at all. Rather, a cursory glimpse at her surroundings revealed industrial tile walls, the humming of machines, and the antiseptic lemon smell that reminded her so much of the lab. 

She sat up, gasping. Was she dead? Was she in the void, or back with the bad men? 

“Sweetie, it’s okay.” Joyce’s voice brought El only a small amount of relief. “You’re safe.” The older brunette had been sitting in a chair by the side of El’s bed. The bags under her eyes were more pronounced, like she hadn’t gotten a decent amount of sleep in a long while. 

“The bad men?” 

Joyce shook her head. “No bad men. You collapsed, honey. Max found you in the snow.” 

“Oh.” El bit her lower lip. She knew she should be grateful towards her friend. Still, this was the last thing she wanted, especially with how worried Joyce looked. The last thing El wanted to be was a burden on her overworked adoptive mother. 

“I’ll tell Mike you’re awake. He’s hardly moved from the lobby, you know.” 

El looked up at the machines. She was hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor, and it took all of her willpower not to rip the IV out of her arm and take off again. 

The door opened and there was the squeak of tennis shoes against waxed linoleum. “El!” 

Mike rushed up to her, and as ashamed as she felt for ending up in this situation, she couldn’t help but perk up at the sight of him. 

“Mike.” Her voice choked like it did when she came back from Chicago. 

He sat on the edge of her hospital bed, taking her thin hand in his own. “What happened? Max says you ran away and you fainted.” 

Her lips were dry and cracked from dehydration; the glands at her jaw swollen from the vomiting. “I…” she started, not sure how to even begin to explain but feeling worse by the second. Mike looked like a lost puppy and she hated herself for what she had done. 

A knock at the door interrupted her before she could even begin to tell the truth. “Jane Hopper?” 

A doctor with salt and pepper hair and a round face entered the room. Joyce granted him with some familiarity though there was wariness in her greeting as well. El blinked, confused. How did they know each other? 

“Jane, I’m Doctor Sam Evans.” He held out his hand to shake and she stared at him blankly. “Your dad, the Chief, knew me.” 

Knew. The past tense was just as gut wrenching the first time she heard it. “Hello,” she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. 

“I’m going to do a cursory examination, if that’s all right with you. Mrs. Byers, and Mr. Wheeler, I’ll call you back in afterward.”

“But—“ Mike looked like he was about to start a fight, but Joyce pulled him away, murmuring soothing platitudes. Leaving El and Dr. Owens alone. 

He cleared his throat. “Your dad spoke highly of you.” 

El shrugged her shoulders, picking at the blanket. 

“I’m going to do a basic exam if that’s all right with you, and see if we can figure out what caused your little spell. Okay?” He had a way of up talking that made her feel a little more trusting of him. Medical spaces were far from her favorite. 

He took her blood pressure lying down, sitting, and standing. Feeling the swollen glands at her jaw, she flinched at the tender touch. Having her walk back and forth in a straight line. And finally, getting on the medical grade scale, noting the number that flashed as El frowned at it. 

“How many times a day do you make yourself vomit?” 

“I don’t.” 

“The swelling in your glands indicates otherwise. If you want this to work, you have to be honest.” 

Friends don’t lie. And yet, the web of lies was threatening to swallow her whole. She hung her head. “After dinner.” 

“Every night?” 

“Yes.” 

He made another note in his chart. “I’m going to order some blood work but in the meantime Mrs. Byers can come back in. Mr. Wheeler, too, if you would like.” 

El paused to think. Mike deserved the truth. Part of her, petty and angry, wanted to lie to him more the way he had last summer. But they were working so hard to put their relationship back together. “He can,” she said, relenting. 

Joyce took a seat next to El’s bedside and Mike once again sat on her bed, interlacing his fingers with her own. Dr. Owens cleared his throat. 

“Based on a cursory examination, I believe Miss Hopper has anorexia nervosa. I will be ordering some lab work as well.” 

“Anorexia what?” Joyce furrowed her brows together. 

“Anorexia nervosa. An illness usually seen in teen girls, where they stop eating, eat very little, and are terrified of gaining weight. In some cases, such as Miss Hopper’s, it takes on the form of bulimirexia, where any food eaten is vomited up.” 

“How—how did this happen?” El could hear the pain and fear in Joyce’s voice, and the guilt made her want to disappear further. She didn’t deserve an unruly adopted daughter like El. 

“Often the anoretic is very sneaky. Hiding food, throwing away food out of sight, things of that nature.” 

“But—I’ve seen El eat,” Mike insisted. “She loves Eggos.” 

“Often the anoretic doesn’t hate food. But there is so little control in their lives that controlling what they eat is the only thing that brings emotional relief.” Dr. Owens sighed. “I know the loss of Jim must have been hard on you all.” 

El kept her gaze focused on the blue cotton blanket that covered her spindly legs. She didn’t have a word for how she was feeling in this moment, but she wished she could crawl into a hole and never come out again. 

“So how do we get her better?” Joyce asked. “I didn’t know….maybe I shouldn’t have worked so many late hours at the store….”

“It’s not your fault,” Eleven said quietly. “I didn’t want you to worry.” 

“Oh honey.” Joyce’s brown eyes filled with tears. 

“She is gonna get better, right?” Mike asked the doctor. “She’s not gonna….die?” 

“The outcomes for anorexia nervosa are mixed,” Dr. Owens admitted. “Some patients never get better. Others do, but it takes time, and a lot of work. This is a relatively new condition; we are still learning how to best treat it.” 

“How do you treat it?” Joyce asked. “She has to just eat?”

Dr. Owens shook his head. “It’s not that simple, sadly. And few facilities know how to treat it. There’s a facility in Philadelphia that recently opened up, for girls and women with the disease.” 

“I don’t think we could afford….” Joyce trailed off and El hated herself even more. 

“I’m sure there’s something that can be arranged on our end,” Dr. Owens said. “What do you think, Miss Hopper?” 

El wanted nothing more than to hide, never be seen again. But she couldn’t do that to Mike, not with the way he was looking at her, so scared. 

“Okay,” she agreed. 

VIII.

Parting with Mike was far more painful than she anticipated. 

“Please try,” he said, his voice cracking. He wouldn’t cry in front of her but she could tell how hard it was to hold himself together. 

Guilt and shame twisted her heart inside out. She didn’t want to stop. But she didn’t want to hurt him, either. 

“I will,” she replied. 

He kissed her, softly. “I’ll call, every night. I promise.” 

“Okay.”

He didn’t want to let her go, but in the end, he had to. As the Byers’ car disappeared down the road, she watched his form slowly fade, until she could see nothing at all. 

IX.

Agony was too generous a word for the process. Every bite felt like she was being torn in two, between the voice that told her to stop eating, and the promise she made to Mike. With increased nutrition her hair stopped falling out, her skin clearer and her nails not so brittle. There was life in her eyes, again. 

Yet the cruelty was that while she came back to life, her dad never would. The grief was such a whirlwind of intensity she felt as though she would break if she had to feel it. 

And break she did, sobbing herself to sleep every night, and after her perfectly portioned meals. The other girls were kind, but they couldn’t know the truth, the whole story. Neither could the young, slim therapist assigned to her. They knew that she had lost her dad, but how could she even begin to explain the Upside Down? 

Her powers showed no sign of coming back, until one evening six weeks into her stay, when Will came to visit. 

She had been given a pass to leave the center on Spring Lane, and as a gaggle of girls watched from the windows enviously, she got into a cab with her step brother. 

“Where do you want to eat?” He asked her, she shrugged her shoulders. 

Will gave the cab driver the address of a pizza place. “Everyone’s missed you so much.” 

She gave him a small smile. “I’ve missed you too.” 

“Mike holding up his end of the bargain?” 

She nodded. “He calls every night.” 

“Good.” 

There’s an awkward pause. Before El had moved in with the Byers, she and Will hadn’t been particularly close. And after she had gotten sick she shut him out again, like she had with everyone. She wondered if he could ever forgive her; she felt as though she couldn’t forgive herself. 

The cab dropped them off at the restaurant and immediately El was assaulted with warmth and the smell of gooey cheese and hot dough. Her palms began to sweat, a lump in her throat. Though the small, mom and pop style shop was mainly empty she felt as though the walls were closing in on her, tilting sideways like a funhouse mirror. 

“El?” Will touched her arm and she startled. She realized there were a lot of words before that “El”.

“What?” Her voice was barely a whisper. 

“I was asking you what you wanted.” 

“I…” The room began to spin again, and she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Let’s go outside.” Will grabbed two Cokes off the counter and paid for them. “Take a breather.” 

He led her to the curb, where they both sat. He opened both of their sodas, handing one to El. 

She took a sip; the sugar rush was a guilty pleasure she hadn’t let herself have in months. 

“A little too much?” He asked, and she nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. 

“You don’t have to be,” he replied. 

She took another gulp of the soda. “It’s my fault.” 

“What is?”

“Everything.” 

Much to her surprise, he wrapped his arm around her. “It’s not. You didn’t know what was going to happen.” 

“But Hop…”

“Hop would want you to forgive yourself. He knew better than anyone what self-hate would get you.” 

She took in his words, continuing to drink. “It’s so hard,” she admitted, hanging her head. 

“I know. He’d be proud of you.” 

“You think?” 

“I know so.”

She gave him a small smile. She didn’t know if it would get any easier, but she was determined to try. Polishing off the last of her drink, the guilt and fear and shame threatened to consume her. She placed the can down next to her. She stared at the aluminum—she hadn’t tried to see if her powers were back in months, tired of the disappointment. But what if….? 

She took a deep breath, thinking of what Kali had said so long ago. Channel the pain, the rage, the hurt that she had tried so hard to bury. She focused her concentration on the can, letting her emotions pour into her. 

The Coke shuddered, and after a moment, crumpled. Wiping the trail of blood from her nose, she let the familiar hum of her powers race through her veins. For the first time in a long time, she felt like herself. 

X.

Eventually, it came time to leave. After three months at the residence, the building that had felt so intimidating when she first walked in, she was going home. 

Relatively speaking. Home was back where she had left her heart: in Hawkins, with her Party. Still, as she exchanged hugs with the other girls and promises to write, she couldn’t shake the excitement of being free. 

It was going to take much more than a hospital stay to make the thoughts and urges leave, and truth be told, she wondered if it would ever go away. She had seen too much pain in her short fifteen years, too much horror and loss. 

Sitting in the foyer with her suitcase and teddy, she patiently waited for Joyce to arrive to pick her up. So much so that she didn’t notice the figure enter the residence building. 

“I’m here to pick up Jane Hopper.” The voice was raspy, like cigarettes and whisky, and far too familiar. A voice she never thought she would hear again. 

“And you are?” The nurses at the front desk asked, snapping her gum. 

“I’m her father.” 

El gasped. The figure in front of her—gaunt, thin, with a shaved head—couldn’t be Hop. There was no way. He was dead; Joyce had said so. 

She took a step towards him. This had to be a dream. She would wake up any moment now. 

“Hop?” Her voice cracked. 

He smiled, and pulled her into his arms. “I missed you, kid.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I have another oneshot in the works plotting out how exactly Hop escaped the Siberian gulag so be on the look out for that soon! I'm also not sure if I want to continue this story or just leave it as a oneshot; let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
